


Remorse

by blankaad



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29068779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blankaad/pseuds/blankaad
Summary: Draco Malfoy wants to put his past behind him, so he applies at the Ministry. When he finds out the Minister for Magic - Hermione Granger herself - will interview him, his better future is up in the air.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. The Interview

**Author's Note:**

> So... Dramione was one of my otps when I first read Harry Potter, so it's kinda special to me. In hindsight - I do see the problems with this ship. I don't agree with a lot of things that are written in fics. So I wrote this story for myself - a story about what I've seen in this ship in the first place.
> 
> Also if you come across any mistakes, please point them out, so I can correct them!

Hermione Granger was sitting by her desk, trying not to cry out loud. Tears were stinging her eyes, but she didn’t want to give in. She couldn’t, not now.  
It was nearly a year since the divorce.  
Ever since she became Minister for Magic, things had started to get rough. Ron needed love. Attention. Time. She didn’t have it, and so couldn’t give it to him. She had just been elected the Minister for Magic, and every day when she’d got back from work, she was tired. She didn’t have the strength to talk, let alone do something or go out.  
He understood.  
And yet, they were fighting – every single day. Every day, after work, when she came back home tired, and all she wanted to do was curl up with a book or go to sleep.  
He understood – but.  
But “please, let’s do something for a change”. “You don’t have time for me anymore”. “Please, just let’s go out for dinner”. “Let’s plan a weekend away”.  
She knew she should’ve paid him more attention. She should’ve tried harder to make some plans - something nice, just the two of them. But how and when? She was given a lot of responsibility, a lot was expected of her, and she was not going to fail. Being the successor of Kingsley Shacklebolt was tiring. He had been favouring her as the new Minister for a long time. Mentoring her. But then, the incident happened.  
Seven years they were fighting for equality. Fighting for peace. It only took one former Death Eater to remind the Ministry that the war was not forgotten. And neither was Voldemort, not even after such a long time. The assassination of Shacklebolt was a traumatising experience - even though the criminal was arrested right away and dragged off to Azkaban - for the Minister, it was already too late. She remembered that moment clearly. She stood next to the stage where Kingsley was giving the speech just a second ago - now lying motionless on the ground, his eyes opened wide but unseeing. Every, absolutely every person in the room turned to look up at her. “What do we do?” they seemed to have been saying. And she was terrified.  
Obviously, she was elected as the next Minister. After the assassination and at such a young age – she was so lost. And they put so much hope in her. A war hero. A muggle-born. The cleverest witch of her age.  
And so she worked her hardest to meet the expectations. It took only half a year for her marriage to start falling apart. She kept suggesting couple’s therapy. Ron immediately shot down the idea. He said that if they went, he’d feel like they were already doomed. Like they already lost.  
“Well, then, better just get divorced, right?” she screamed angrily at him.  
And as soon as the words came out of her mouth, both of them knew. They knew that - sadly, it was the only solution that would work equally for both of them. Or maybe the easiest solution - not to hurt themselves or each other. Not to get their friends involved. Well, to be fair - they got involved – a little too much for her taste. Even though she thought they might’ve done more to save the marriage - it was their decision. And frankly, the only in a long time they had discussed thoroughly, and that both had agreed upon.  
They remained good friends. It wasn’t even that awkward. They could be in the same room, and they could meet up with their friends. But something was lost, and she knew they could never win it back. After a year, she wasn’t even sure whether she would want to... The real answer was no.  
It was good for them. Being friends. He didn’t expect the impossible of her, and she didn’t snap at him every day. It was in the past. A past that she was yet to come to an agreement with – but in the past.  
And so she was sitting in her office, trying not to cry. It’s not like she missed being with Ron - more missed what they had, how things were. It just hurt so much - and she wasn’t able to justify her feelings. She knew she was always going to love him but didn’t know what it actually meant.  
“Enough moping”, she whispered to herself, slamming the book she wasn’t reading shut. She got up and took the first binder from the shelves and took out the resumé that honestly surprised her the most of all she’d ever got.  
The capital letters at the top of the page were saying: DRACO MALFOY.  
She never expected him to come back. She always thought he was a coward incapable of facing his past like a decent human being. And yet, the CV she was holding in her hands was real. He came back and apparently, wanted… What exactly did he want? That was what she intended to find out. Once Eugene got his resumé for Hogwarts Board of Governors, he went straight to Hermione. If not for his impressive experience (apparently, he worked in a few places abroad) and skills, she would tell Eugene to throw it away. But she knew she had to be better than that. She shouldn’t just discriminate him based on who he was. She fought the war for equality long enough to know that it would be horribly hypocritical of her. But she had to take precautions, nonetheless, and that is why she decided to interview him herself. If he made a good impression on her – she would send him to an interview with Eugene, and if he liked Malfoy, he could eventually start working there.  
She was quite proud of the way she handled that. It may have been still a little bit discriminatory, but Malfoy wasn’t exactly a saint, was he? He had a criminal past, was associated with Death Eaters - and even though his family was acquitted, she had to be careful. She couldn’t risk letting someone like that straight into the Ministry. One and a half year after the assassination of the previous Minister, at that. Not even such a qualified candidate. Of course, if his resumé wasn’t full of lies - she didn’t rule it out as well.  
She glanced at the clock – there were fifteen minutes left to the interview. Hermione took a few calming breaths and asked her assistant, Astoria, for a coffee.  
“Yes, ma’am”, she said, saluting her.  
Hermione rolled her eyes.  
“Would you please stop calling me ‘ma’am’ already? It makes me feel old,” begged Hermione for about a thousandth time.  
Astoria smiled wickedly.  
“Of course, Madame Minister,” she replied and headed towards the kitchen to make a coffee. Hermione smiled to herself and shook her head, sat back in her comfortable chair and waited for Draco Malfoy to arrive for the interview.

He was standing before the entrance of the Ministry for half an hour already. He didn’t remember being this stressed out, ever; terrified for his life – yes. Terrified for his parents’ life – sure. But stressed out about a job? Maybe it had less to do with a job than with the fact that the first interview was going to be conducted by none other than Madame Minister - Hermione Granger, herself. Honestly, he didn’t expect anything else.  
He had been a Death Eater.  
His father had been a Death Eater.  
His mother had been associated with them.  
He was meant to kill Dumbledore, and even though he knew he wouldn’t have done it after all – he came dangerously close to doing so. And, just as an addition, he read the papers. He knew what had happened to Kingsley Shacklebolt. They were obviously going to take precautions. To be frank, he didn’t even expect them to look twice at his resumé. He thought they would just throw it right away. Apparently, someone showed it to Granger. And… well, he half-expected her to throw it right away as well. But she didn’t. And she was going to interview him herself.  
When he got an owl with an invitation for the interview, he was very much surprised. Suddenly he felt this… hope. He rebuked himself for this feeling, but a bit too late. He felt hopeful about his future for the first time in a very, very long time. But then, he read the name at the end of the letter.  
Hermione Granger.  
He was doomed - and he knew that. Ha had no chance whatsoever of getting this job. And yet, he came here.  
Nothing, absolutely nothing he could say could convince her to hire him, her - of all people. Nothing he could say was going to fix what he’s done to her. And she was a bloody Minister – and so, he was doomed.  
He took a deep breath and went into the lift.  
There was nothing more he could do. He just had to go in there and apologise. And talk about why he was suitable for the job because he knew very well how bloody suitable he was. In any other circumstances, he would’ve gotten this job, for sure. But if nothing could convince Granger… He could tell her his story. But why would she listen to him? And why would she believe him?  
“No time to back out now,” he thought to himself as the lift stopped on the level he was supposed to leave. He found the right door and knocked with a shaking hand.  
The door was opened by a brunette he immediately recognised as Daphne’s younger sister, Astoria. She smiled at him.  
“Welcome, Draco. Madame Minister is already waiting for you. You just have to knock on that door, and she’ll let you in.”  
He nodded and thanked her.  
“Would you like some coffee or tea?”  
“Oh, no, thank you,” he said but suddenly felt how dry his throat was. He walked to the door, which seemed to be grim for some reason. And then, not letting himself have a moment to think, he knocked.  
“Come in!” answered the voice he could not mistake with any other.  
Draco noticed with horror that his hands were literally shaking. He came in and saw her - Madame Minister for Magic, Hermione Granger. For some reason, she looked sad and tired, but he knew that preparing for the job interview with him must not have been easy. Her bushy brown hair was tied back in a braid. Ever since the Yule Ball, it was hard to ignore how pretty she actually was, never mind the fact that she didn’t care that much for her appearance. Actually, that fact may be the only reason why he noticed it at the Yule Ball and not before. But there was no denying that even in her dishevelled bushy hair everywhere, back at school, there was something unique about her that made her attractive. To some people, of course. He just understood their opinion, that’s all.  
Now she looked very professional, in her black-pants suit, oxford shoes and tied hair.  
“Madame Minister,” he said with a little bow that made her narrow her eyes.  
“Malfoy,” she replied coldly. “Please, sit down.”  
He sat back in the chair opposite her own. The desk was perfectly organised (not that he expected anything else). The small plate in front was saying “Minister for Magic – Hermione Granger”.  
“Now, let’s make it plain and clear,” she started. “I’m a professional and therefore will behave professionally as long as you will too. You are in no position to act like… well, you. I have no pleasure in having you here, on a personal level, but seeing you have a great and interesting experience for the post, and hence, you are one of the most promising candidates - I’m willing to push my feelings aside. I hope you’ll appreciate the chance I’m giving you - because based on what I’ve seen, you’d be a great addition to the team. We’re giving you the opportunity to redeem yourself, so I hope you’ll take it.”  
She was staring at him with the unsurprising yet strong determination in her eyes.  
“I know. I promise you, I will not waste this chance,” he said truthfully, much to her surprise. She looked at him as if she’d never seen him before.  
“You didn’t expect that, did you?” he asked her, trying very hard not to smirk. He most possibly failed.  
“To be perfectly honest, no, I did not.”  
He nodded sadly.  
“Well, I’m here to present myself as the perfect candidate for the job. And seeing you are the Minister for Magic, it’s only natural that I want to make a good impression.”  
“Fine,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. “Let’s get to it, then. Well, you do have a decent education seeing you have graduated Hogwarts with honours and, well, second-best.”  
He bit his tongue before he could call her out on the fact that she wasn’t entirely professional, boasting like that. He wasn’t in a position to do that. And she had a perfectly good reason to feel proud of her achievements.  
“Then, you studied at the French university, acquiring a bachelor’s degree in Education Law, which is a perfect fit for the post. May I ask what motivated you to graduate in this particular arena?” she asked, studying his resumé closely. As if she didn’t read it about a million times before and already knew it by heart.  
“Hogwarts means a lot to me,” he said, weighing his words extremely carefully. “It’s where I’ve spent my best years and… well, worst years.”  
They shared a knowing look, and Hermione gave him a little nod to continue.  
“After seven years there, I wanted to do something for the school. After the war I,… Well, let’s just say I saw a lot of things that could’ve been better there. And I knew I didn’t want to be a teacher, so… I chose education law. Thought it was going to be a good fit for me.”  
She nodded, clearly deep in thought.  
“Very well. Can you tell me something about your cooperation with the Finnish Magical Government?”  
“I went there after getting my bachelor’s degree. I worked with the school board, first as an intern, but quickly got a full-time job. I was in charge of choosing the students’ books.”  
“So you know Finnish well, then?” she sounded almost impressed.  
“I started learning back in France since I knew that was my next destination. I’ve become quite fluent at it.”  
She nodded and made a little note in her notebook.  
“And the Russian government?” she asked, suddenly focusing her attention back on him.  
“I transferred there. I was made the head of recruitment. So I hired most of the teachers at the school there and worked hand-in-hand with the headmaster.”  
“So… You know Russian as well?” she asked, glancing at him every now and then between making her notes.  
“Well, yes. It’s far from perfect, but I’m fairly good.”  
She nodded, not letting down her guard. She didn’t look impressed - but the faint glim in her eye told him she actually was.  
“Why come back to England, then? You have travelled the world, have a great experience. You could continue to travel or maybe in Russia. What made you come back?”  
“It’s my home,” he said simply.  
It was hard to miss a sad note in his voice. Hermione studied him curiously, probably for the first time ever.  
“So you were feeling nostalgic?” she asked, not bothering to mask the sarcasm.  
“Yes, I tend to feel nostalgic as I’m sure you do as well, Miss Granger,” he replied before he could bite his tongue.  
He shouldn’t have said that. And definitely not like that. It was painfully obvious he was referring to the fact Hermione wasn’t married anymore. Their divorce was a high-profile case in the papers. He could’ve just called her “Madame Minister” or “Granger” would be okay. But putting stress on miss? Cheap shot.  
She looked taken aback for a second, and then her eyes became thunderous.  
“Right, well. So, do you keep tabs on all your former enemies or just me?” she asked furiously.  
He shook his head, looking almost remorseful. Almost.  
There was no correct answer to that question.  
“I’m English - I read papers,” he replied finally.  
She snorted and shook her head.  
“Right,” she said. “Well, I admit, I shouldn’t have been sarcastic, but that comment was unnecessary.”  
“I’m sorry, I was way out of line,” he said suddenly - this time, Hermione couldn’t keep her poker face on and frowned.  
She was genuinely shocked he was capable of that. She remained silent for a long moment, her eyes wide.  
He sighed.  
“Look, the times changed. Believe it or not, but I changed, too. The whole blood purity thing? You and I both know it doesn’t matter anymore. Not that it mattered before, it being only the empty belief system of my family and others,” he muttered, staring at his palms.  
He found it impossible to look at her now. It was painfully true – when he watched everything he and his family’s believed in fall down before their eyes, he was devastated. Not because he wanted it to keep up. Because he was so painfully wrong that it hurt too much to face it.  
She shook her head sadly.  
“But how can I trust you that you’ve changed?”  
He was surprised to realise those words hurt him. Ignoring the stinging pain in his heart, he took a deep breath. It was the last chance to convince her – now or never.  
“Look at you, so quickly judging the book by its cover,” he said, deciding that the time to keep up the formalities was long gone.  
She looked almost scandalised.  
“Said none other but Draco Malfoy,” she replied, losing her temper. “I was genuinely asking, how can I know?“  
“Look,” he said, his anger rising. “I thought you’d be the one who would see this rationally. To not judge me by my past. I don’t deny anything - I admit it was shitty and that I was shitty. What I’m saying is - I’m different now. I’m still learning to live in this new world, so I may make mistakes or even many of them, but I want to be better, okay?”  
There was complete silence followed by his words. Hermione stared at him, completely taken aback and finding herself actually believing him, which gave her a bad feeling about all this. Why would she believe him? Malfoy can’t have been genuine - he was just lying to get a job… Wasn’t he?  
“I... I just don’t know, okay? I don’t trust you, so how can I make an unbiased decision?”  
He sighed and looked at her pleadingly.  
“Let me tell you then. I don’t know how else to convince you, but maybe telling you will make you understand my situation better,” said Malfoy.  
He found the nerve to look into her brown eyes for the first time since the beginning of the interview.  
“What do you want to tell me?” she demanded.  
“My story.”  
She sighed heavily.  
“Right. Okay, I know you know how hard it is for me to keep this conversation professional. I believe it is hard for you, too. But I hardly think that telling me a story about how hard it is to be rich and entitled in every possible way is a good idea.”

They were sitting in silence for a while now. Hermione didn’t avert her gaze and was piercing Draco with determination.  
“Well? Will you start any time soon, or should I grab my lunch first?” she asked. “Or maybe do a Sunday crossword puzzle in one go?”  
He sighed tiredly.  
“Would you please stop sighing,” she said through gritted teeth.  
“I’m sorry, does this annoy you?”  
It was hard to say whether he was sarcastic or not.  
“Yes. Very much so.”  
Hermione started tapping fingers on her desk.  
“Okay. First, you say about an unbiased decision and being professional, and now you’re sarcastic. So I’m not sure how to react right now.”  
“I don’t have to put up with you, Malfoy. We’re not at school anymore.”  
“I know. But you’re not being fair.”  
Hermione looked at him in surprise, suddenly abashed. She cleared her throat and stared at her hands.  
“Well. Yes. Right. I suppose... Well. Please, take your time.”  
“What should I start with?” he asked.  
He wasn’t prepared for that part. He was sure they were never going to get to it, that he’d be thrown out already. And even if – how could he face it? And of all people, did it really have to be her he was to tell the story?

More silence. Draco knew he had to start any second now. Otherwise, Granger really would throw him out. It was his absolute last chance. He tried to ignore the fact that it was her. He tried to imagine that in her place was his mother. Or Theo. It was easier that way.  
“You have no idea how it is to grow up in a family that values blood purity above everything else,” he started. She laughed coldly but quickly composed herself. “You’re absolutely right. It wasn’t hard, not at first. I believed I was special because my parents told me so. I thought I was better. I believed in it, or even more so – I knew it. But, then, I went to Hogwarts.”  
She frowned.  
“What happened at Hogwarts? Apart from the fact - forgive me for being so blunt - that you were strolling around like you owned the place.”  
“You,” he said simply.  
“What?” she barked.  
“Hermione Granger. Mudblood, I’ve called you. And do you know why?” he said, watching her reaction intently. She was now listening to him with a little curiosity in her eyes.  
“Because I was a muggle-born, and you were pure-blood and therefore believed you were better?” she asked but somehow forgot to add some venom into her tone.  
“No. Well, yes – I thought so too. But no.”  
“Well, then, why?”  
“You were better than me at everything. Well, not at quidditch, obviously I’ve got Potter to thank for it, but at academics. Every possible subject, you were better. I was always second-best.”  
“So?”  
He sighed again and tried hard not to roll his eyes.  
“I was raised to believe that it was me who was the best. I was also raised to believe that blood purity made me better. And then you came along, a muggle-born know-it-all. I wasn’t the best, and there was no way to deny it - I mean, you had the best grades - how could I just ignore it? But I also believed in the fact that muggle-borns were of… worse sort. That was how I explained it to myself. You might’ve been better than me at school, but you were still worse. Because I was pure-blood.”  
She looked at him in genuine disbelief.  
“And all those years… you just believed it?”  
“It’s not that easy, you know, to admit to a mistake. Not when you are Malfoy, not when you had those “values” forced on you since the day you were born. And on top of that, raised to believe that you were always right.”  
“I mean, it’s not that hard to know better, you know,” she said sceptically. “Sirius--”  
“Here we go,” he smiled resignedly. “Yes, I know, Sirius this, Sirius that. But you must understand many, many things. He was sorted into Gryffindor, had friends to open his eyes. The simple fact that he was a Gryffindor might have already opened his eyes. He hated his family. He hated their guts and hated every minute there, in the house. But he had friends where he was always welcome at, wasn’t he? Now - I’m Slytherin. All friends I’ve ever had believed in the same crap as I did. Not all Slytherins, obviously, but I literally chose friends based on this. Also, I’ve always loved my family. Sure, I was raised in a demanding environment, a lot was expected from me, but my parents loved me. And I loved them. It’s not like I loved them because they were telling me I was special. They genuinely cared for me, and I for them. You know something about that, don’t you? You have parents. I’ve read the article about what you must’ve gone through to get them back from Australia. I’ll have you know I, too, would do everything for my parents. And you must consider that when judging the fact that I never turn my back on them and what came with it – their values.”  
She stared at him as if she’d seen a ghost. It was so hard for her to believe him - not the story. She knew he must be telling the truth - no one could lie like that. If anyone, well, yes – him, but she knew he wasn’t. It’s not something you could play so well. What she couldn’t believe was that he was telling her this. Why? Why would he tell her this? Willingly?  
“I don’t understand,” she admitted.  
“What?” he asked, confused.  
“Why would you tell me this?”  
“Why wouldn’t I?  
“I mean, why would you tell me this? Me of all people? Seems to be quite a far length to go to get a job, doesn’t it? What do you have to gain?”  
“Are you suspicious?” he seemed surprised.  
“Of course I’m suspicious, Malfoy, this is you.”  
“It’s time for me to get back here. To move on. And to put it all behind me. I want to come home.”  
She buried her head in her hands.  
“I just don’t understand the meaning of this,” she admitted.  
“I’ve already told you.”  
“No!” she raised her voice. “For all I know, you might be trying to manipulate me into giving you a job.”  
“Then why would I tell you about my embarrassing intimidation by you in? Just to get a job? Come on, Granger, you’re smarter than to believe that.”  
“But you’re a snake. You hurt people, and you bully them, you manipulate them to get what you want, so tell me, Malfoy, why on earth should I believe in anything you say?”  
He looked at her – clearly puzzled and trying to make sense of this all.  
“Maybe because you’re the one who’s interviewing me. You don’t trust anyone else to do it, but you’re still giving me a chance, aren’t you? I know it’s hard for you, but it is for me, too. I’ve read about your activism - you’ve done quite a lot for equality, haven’t you? I think I deserve this chance. But if my words don’t convince you, look at the facts. You know full well that this is the only chance for me to go back to my home. You know I’m a family person. You know I value tradition. Why would I want to continue travelling to the countries where I don’t know anyone and where every little thing reminds me that this is not home?”  
“Maybe because no one knows you… And therefore, you’re not getting any weird looks?” asked Hermione, suddenly regaining her posture and self-confidence.  
He smiled slightly.  
“Well, that’s certainly true. But as I’ve told you – I love my family, no matter what people they are and how they behaved in the past. I am nostalgic. I want to get back home. I’m not one to leave my comfort zone in this case.”  
“Still, how can I know you’re not just saying that?” she asked, crossing her arms.  
“I really don’t know what you expect of me, Granger,” he sighed heavily. “I can tell you my whole life if you want, just please, let me stay in the country with my family.”  
She eyed him suspiciously. In the beginning, he was apologising, and now he was begging? What the hell had happened to him? She studied Malfoy’s features for a second as if to make sure it really was him. But it was him. Oblong face, pale skin, high cheekbones, steely eyes and this hair – a bit longer than he was wearing them before. And all that. It was Malfoy. And he was genuinely apologising. And pleading.  
“Okay. Okay. I will need a bit more than that, but I’m willing to listen,” Hermione stated calmly. “I know you’re smart and capable. I know you’re qualified for a job. But I need to be sure, one hundred per cent sure you have no malicious intents.”  
“How else do I convince you?” he asked with resignation in his voice.  
“I don’t know.”  
She really didn’t. She was torn. Draco Malfoy was sitting opposite her, telling her he wanted a job and to be better. And she saw it. But why, how could she believe him? He was one of the vilest people she’d ever known, and it didn’t matter that she clearly saw how working for Voldemort almost destroyed him. He then probably saw the error of his ways, but it didn’t erase the past. He was still mean and acted despicably. Of course, she didn’t know what was happening to him after the war. He could’ve changed. But she knew him once before- and this was not the person she could trust. It wasn’t the person she could believe. But now… He seemed genuine. She wanted to believe him, she really did, but she knew better than that. Evidence was needed - concrete, physical evidence.  
“Fine,” he agreed. “I guess we’ll just keep talking.”  
She looked at him uncertainly.  
“I’ll try to convince you,” he added.


	2. Hogwarts Memories

“You remember when you first met Pansy?” Draco asked suddenly.  
She frowned.  
“That cow? Of course I do.”  
He laughed softly.  
“Don’t judge her too harshly.”  
“I was telling her about Hogwarts’ enchanted ceiling. She was nice to me. Up to the next week, when she found out that I was muggle-born and started bullying me. Hasn’t stopped for seven long years. Don’t you dare tell me to not judge her harshly,” barked Hermione.  
“We all have a story, Granger. Her behaviour was not the best one, and I’m not trying to justify it, but everything has an explanation. One has better than the other, but everything does.”  
She glared at him with disbelief.  
“What do you mean?”   
“My point is – she was nice to you, wasn’t she? Yes, she might’ve been – a cow, as you referred to her – later on. We were eleven and led to believe that muggle-borns were scum. We should’ve known better, but not all of us did. We could blame our parents, our families or ourselves. We’re not without fault here, but we were children. Pansy Parkinson wasn’t a genuinely bad person. She was nice to most of us, I mean, in Slytherin. She was always helpful and supportive. It doesn’t excuse her actions towards you or any other muggle-borns, but it confirms that she was not evil incarnate.”  
“I never thought she was. She was just horrible.”  
Malfoy chuckled.  
“In Slytherin, we continued to believe we were above others. Not all Slytherins were like that. In fact, I think only our inner circle, so to speak.”  
“The top of the chain,” suggested Hermione with an unpleasant smile.  
“You could say that. We were sort of an elite. And I truly don’t know what other Slytherins thought of us,” sighed Draco.  
“Oh, I know you weren’t all like that. Astoria’s perfectly nice.”  
“See? And so the little me arrived at school, ego nearly as big as Hogwarts—”  
Hermione giggled.  
“I’m sorry, is that funny to you?”  
“Actually, it’s quite adequate. I like it. Feel free to use this narrative. Please, go on.”  
“And Harry Potter says he doesn’t want to be friends with me. Can you imagine my shock?”  
“That must’ve been a truly traumatising experience,” she said with impeccably faked compassionate expression.  
“I know you’re being sarcastic - but I hope you remember to at least try to understand my position. I was eleven, led to believe than anyone would be over the moon to have met me. And the famous Harry Potter is saying he won’t be friends with me. I was furious. Frustrated. Humiliated even. I found my own friends. I know it’s hard for you to believe. Maybe our friendship started as a result of the group wanting to be in good graces with my father, but we really value friendship. I don’t know if you knew, but one of the Slytherins’ most important traits is fraternity.”  
“Of course I know that,” she said, sounding almost offended. She obviously read in “Hogwarts: A History”.  
“Anyway, just after he disdained my friendship, it appeared my grades weren’t the best - and it was a muggle-born who was better than me. You’re ambitious. You have to know how it is when you’re not the best at something. You know how frustrating it is.”  
“I do,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands.  
“And if that wasn’t enough for my pride and my ego – yes, I know it was not the end of the world, but it hurt nonetheless – Harry Potter was chosen for the quidditch team. Therefore, it appeared the only thing I was going to be good at was gloating. All I had was words. Empty, but I had quite a lot of support among Slytherins. It made me feel better.”  
“So... What you’re saying... Is it true that bullies bully other people to feel better about themselves and that it’s because they are so insecure?” she asked, shaking her head.  
“It appears so. I guess Pansy must’ve been doing the same.”  
“So you bullied others.”  
“I know how it sounds. I know it’s hard to understand - and frankly, it’s inexcusable - but it was the only way I knew. I definitely didn’t know how to deal with my own emotions.”  
“Well… you were a kid. I guess, on some level, it might be understandable,” she admitted reluctantly. “But why are you so self-aware now?”  
“Because I’ve had time, I’ve seen things I wish I hadn’t seen, and I’ve come to peace with my own emotions. These things take time if you’re so deep in shit like I was.”  
“So. It appears you struggled with not being the best.”  
“Yes. So I continued fighting for attention and support the best way I knew – being an arch-enemy of sorts to you three.”  
“You took it too far, Malfoy.”  
“I know.”  
“You called me mudblood. You have no idea how it is to hear something like that when you’re twelve. You have no idea how painful it was for me. And every time I heard it,” Hermione faltered.  
“I know you never heard me say it, but I apologise,” he said, looking her in the eyes and looking genuinely apologetic. She wasn’t sure what to think.  
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.  
“Because I was a little prick. And you deserve this apology.”  
She quickly fought back the tears – it was not the time. She didn’t need this apology.  
“Well... Thank you. But it doesn’t change anything,” she said, her voice trembling.  
“Of course it doesn’t,” he said quickly. “I’m not saying it does. But you deserve it anyway.”  
The silence took over the room. Hermione was trying to remain calm, but it was harder and harder with every minute. What was he up to? Why was he doing that? Why?  
“And you’re right that I have no idea how it is to be called mudblood by a presumptuous arsehole. But it’s not like you know how it is to be called evil little cockroach and punched in a face by a girl I bullied for three years.”  
“Don’t even compare the situation. You deserved that,” hissed Hermione.   
“I know I did, all the more reason I was so impressed with you.”  
“Impressed?” she sounded surprised.  
“You punched me in the face, Granger. No one ever dared to touch me. And you nearly broke my nose. You stood up to me - it was impressive. I’ve never told anyone about this. And I was pretty sure you’d tell nearly everyone. But you didn’t. Why?”  
She looked uncertainly over at him.  
“I don’t really know. A lot had happened that night. It kind of just… slipped my mind.”  
He shook his head in disbelief.  
“And at the Championships…”  
“You quite literally suggested I should be killed by Death Eaters.”  
“It wasn’t like that. On some level, yes, I wanted to be a prick even more for you punching me in the face. And in that case, I did hold the upper hand. But… I did want to warn you. You didn’t know what was going on. And the Death Eaters were going after muggles.”  
“Warn us?” she snorted in disbelief.  
“Believe it or not, I always admired you three. I envied you. You had each other, you were always together, nothing could keep you apart. You’d quite literally go on a Horcrux hunt together. You have this beautiful friendship I could only dream of. And then, all of a sudden, it was more than that. My father didn’t get the prophecy, and that’s when it all started crumbling down.”  
Hermione tensed suddenly. She didn’t know he’d be talking about this. She wasn’t prepared for that. For this… honesty or whatever it was. For this talk. Why would he bare his soul in front of her like that?  
Yet, Malfoy seemed determined to continue. And so, Hermione listened intently, no matter how much she was afraid of what she was going to hear next. But most of all – she was terrified she might pity him, be genuinely compassionate. She didn’t want to - the old ways were so much easier. Meaning never hearing of him again and despising him.   
“The Dark Lord wasn’t very pleased, as you might suspect. He wanted to punish him. I was – just to remind you, in case you forgot – a rich and an entitled bully wanting nothing more than to impress my parents. So… This did not combine well. Mother was on the verge of doing something unexceptionally stupid so that I wouldn’t join them. But He made his choice, and everyone knew there was nothing they could do to stop him. So I took the mark. I was proud of it, unfortunately. Didn’t boast about it because I knew I couldn’t speak of it freely, but I suggested to my friends that I had a task to do. You know what it was. I felt appreciated. Chosen. But it was just a load of shit that flowed down on me instead of on my father. I quickly realised how stupid it was. How pointless. I knew I couldn’t do it - I failed again and again. I didn’t have anywhere to go and get help—”  
“You could’ve gone to Dumbledore. He would’ve helped you. He told you that himself,” she interrupted.  
“Please,” he rolled his eyes. “If I’d gone to Dumbledore, my family and I would’ve been dead within a week. No protection could’ve stopped him haunting down traitors like that. You didn’t work beside him. You worked against him. Hence, you have no idea how it really was.”  
She frowned but nodded as if to apologise.  
“Tell me then.”  
He sighed heavily.  
“They would send me letters. Things like ‘better check on your mum’. Or ‘she was wearing that and that gold necklace today’. That was a standard. Sometimes, they’d hunt me down in Hogsmeade, dragging to the dark alley and telling me to ‘hurry up’. Stuff like that. If I’d gone to Dumbledore, every one of the Death Eaters would hunt my family down. Not only did I not believe in your victory, but I also knew that hiding would be pointless. He would’ve got us in the end.”  
“You don’t know that.”  
She hid her hands underneath the desk so that he wouldn’t see them shaking.  
“Each deserter was hunted down in a matter of days. Besides, if you saw how he treated Pettigrew, you wouldn’t say that. There was nothing he wasn’t capable of. Apart from killing Potter, nothing could’ve stopped him. I just didn’t know then that it was this one thing he couldn’t do. But how could I know? From my perspective, stopping him was impossible.”  
“But Harry said… Harry said you wanted all the glory to yourself,” she said quietly.   
These words were a reminder of what kind of a person he really was, and it was good – he didn’t deserve her compassion – but she did feel guilty about it. Maybe he did deserve it, after all? She was torn, and her mind was racing. She thought she could use a break.  
He went silent for a second.  
“I wanted to prove myself. Prove something to my parents, who were severely disappointed I wasn’t at the top of my class. Prove something to people, prove that I was better than them. And prove to the Dark Lord that I was worthy. Yes, I did want all the glory to myself. Yes, I was angry at Snape for interfering. I thought I could handle it alone. To save my family. I was fooling myself. Deep down, I wasn’t able to kill someone. But I knew that if I didn’t, then he would kill my parents. And me. It was too much, and I had no idea what to do. So I had to continue finding the solution. I will forever be grateful to Snape for what he did. Something I couldn’t do. At first, I was terrified. But after war… I’d read about him - I know he was on your side. And I… I wish I had his courage to do the same. I regret I didn’t seek out to him when I needed help, and I regret I didn’t confide in him because he might’ve been able to help me - in some way. I should’ve known. I should’ve figured it out.”  
“You couldn’t have known. Everyone was fooled by Snape… and well, his rather peculiar behaviour,” Hermione noted, suddenly finding it too hard to hide her concern.  
“And after that… Well, it was only getting worse.”  
She nodded when he looked at her questioningly.  
“After you three disappeared… It was a huge hunt. We were everywhere looking for you. He used our house – our house, with all the good memories - the bad ones too - but he turned it into a fucking prison. We brought in Luna Lovegood. She was laughed at back at school, and I can’t say I wasn’t a part of that - I mean, she really is weird, but… Seeing her being treated that way? She was so… Pure, innocent and then there she was, tortured in my basement. Sometimes I still dream about it. One of the worst nightmares, to be perfectly honest. I tried to smuggle in some food or water whenever I could, but it was nearly impossible if I didn’t want to get caught.”  
Luna’s never told her that. Maybe she should ask about it?  
“And then, they found you three. I was so… furious that you’d got caught. I really was surprised to feel that way, but I was. That’s the main reason I didn’t tell them I recognised you. Or rather that I wasn’t sure. I really wanted you to succeed because if I had to spend more time in an oppressive world that the Dark Lord wanted to build, I don’t think I could continue putting on a brave face. You can pretend only that long. But, Granger… Luna Lovegood was one. She was tortured, but it doesn’t compare to what Bellatrix was doing to you… It haunts me every night.”  
It was too much. Hermione averted her gaze and stared out of the window.  
“It haunts you?” she snorted and shook her head. “And yet… You did nothing.”   
“What was I supposed to do? Please, Granger, tell me. Because even now, I don’t see the way out of this. I would’ve stood up to them – they would’ve killed me right away. And my parents. Trust me when I tell you, Bellatrix would not hesitate. There was no time to plan anything. Besides, they would’ve known it was me - I was the weakest link. I admired what Weasley was doing for you that night. It was… I was, yet again, incredibly impressed. Called him a blood-traitor, bullied him for being poor and everything. And at this moment, he was better than me in every possible aspect.”  
“After that, then… Why were you trying to kidnap Harry during the Battle? Why?” she said, completely at a loss. Her hands were still shaking underneath the desk. She just couldn’t calm them down.  
“I was desperate, Granger. I lost every possible leverage. I wanted you to succeed, but it doesn’t mean I believed in your victory. If I turned Harry over, He would’ve left my family off the hook. It would mean that this oppressive world would be at least in some aspects liveable for us. I know you probably find it extremely selfish. I… thought a lot about it. And I don’t – it’s self-preservation. My family means to me more than anything. I just wanted myself - and them to be safe. I’m not a hero. I’m not a person to make sacrifices. I’m not one to be the martyr. You can blame me for a lot of things, Granger, but you can’t blame me for that.”  
She glared at him intently. Why did his words make so much sense? They shouldn’t. She should be furious and throw him out. Why didn’t she do that? Instead, she felt this huge wave of sadness.  
“So you’re saying you could live happily in a world where people are being killed and tortured – just because you and your family lived?” she asked stiffly.  
“I could live, yes. Not exactly happily. I’m sad to say I’m not the heartless monster you think I am. But if I knew my family and I are safe, then yes. I could live in a world like that.”  
“That’s... That’s not—”  
“Look—”  
She got up abruptly from her seat and faced the window. What was she doing? Did she really think a person like him could ever, ever be worthy of her time?  
“Look! I’m not trying to justify what I’ve done, I know I had a choice, and I was a dick, a bully, and a horrible person. What I’m trying to do is present myself in a slightly better light now. Prove that I’ve understood some things and that I’m not this person anymore. Not everything’s black and white. In my case, it’s a darker shade of grey, okay? And it gets a little bit lighter over time.”  
Hermione wanted to look at him in disgust, but she found herself incapable of doing so. They were so different. And Malfoy was right - she couldn’t blame him for trying to look out after himself and his family. It might’ve been selfish - in her opinion, but she couldn’t expect everyone to be heroes. She met a lot of courageous people who were willing to lose life for the cause. But how could she expect that of everyone? Not everyone is prone to do the right thing for such a high price. Looking out for his family was, in its own way, also courageous. In a different aspect, but still.  
She slowly sat down in her seat. Draco was staring at her bookshelf, pensive.   
“Your mother was brave. There, in the forest. Telling Voldemort Harry died,” she said quietly, after a moment of silence.  
“I know.”  
“She did that for you.”  
“I know.”  
“...And you would do the same for her.”  
“Without the moment of hesitation.”  
They were looking at each other without saying a word. Draco knew Hermione was starting to see his perspective.   
“So why did you flee? After the war?” she asked, finally calm.  
“I couldn’t stand being here. I deserved all the judging, but it was still hard. I mean, you at least had a reason to judge me. But all these people who didn’t even know me? I couldn’t stand it. I knew I wasn’t a hero, and therefore I had no place here. So I finished this last year at Hogwarts, having everyone but Pansy, Blaise and Theo, looking at me constantly in disgust and left. Everything I did abroad was with hoping I could come back one day. And now… I hope this is the right time. Because I know I have one shot at it.”  
It was really hard for Hermione. It wasn’t a decision to be made right away. It wasn’t something she could just make her mind up in a minute. It meant changing her whole perception of Draco Malfoy. She was looking at him, seeing him – really seeing him – for the first time. And she saw a broken boy who had made many mistakes in his life but who was aware of them and – most importantly – remorseful. She didn’t know what to make of it yet. It was going to be a hard decision to make. That’s why she had to be extra careful. He was looking at her with hope so visible in his eyes. She thought that if someone told her ten years ago that Draco Malfoy would come to her and ask her for help and forgiveness, she’d send them straight to St. Mungo’s. But there he was. Very much real and apparently, very much sorry. He had hard work ahead of him. It wasn’t going to happen overnight. He had to sacrifice a lot so that he’d earn hers - or anyone else’s for that matter - respect and trust. But she saw now - quite clearly - that it was possible after all. And she hoped he wasn’t going to waste that chance.  
“I need to sleep on it,” she announced with a firm determination in her voice.  
He nodded sadly.  
“Is that okay?” she asked.  
“Of course. Take as long as you need. Send me an owl with an answer. Or if you have any questions… Just send me an owl whatever you decide.”  
“Okay. Well. Thank you for stopping by and… Well, thank you for telling me. I know it couldn’t have been easy. Forgive me for being... Well. I know I couldn’t have been easy to talk to. But I think I will be able to make… less biased decision based on this.”  
“I’m glad.”  
He smiled weakly and took his leave.  
As soon as the door shut behind him, she stopped suppressing those tears that were stinging her eyes. She didn’t even try not to sob.  
A soft knock on the door and the head of Astoria appeared in a doorway.  
“Are you okay?” she asked.  
Hermione nodded, wiping her tears away.  
“Just give me a minute,” she whispered so that her voice wouldn’t break at least. Astoria nodded in agreement and shut the door.


	3. The Letter

It’s been six days since Draco’s interview. He was sitting in his kitchen, looking by the window at the fogged meadow beside his family’s house and sipping coffee. He was frustrated. He knew he didn’t have a chance, not when she wasn’t answering for almost a week now and not when she knew who he was. He knew it’s been partly his fault, but what more could he have done? He literally bared his soul to her, and she still wasn’t going to give him a chance.  
He could start working somewhere else… For the Daily Prophet, for example. He didn’t really have the experience that could make him fit in there, but he could make this work. But if Granger wasn’t willing to give him a chance, no one else would. It was true - he was one of the most hated men in the country. And frankly, without the support of Madame Minister herself, he was doomed. Of course, when he first applied for a job, he didn’t know it would be her who’d interview him. But he knew that she would have to be the one to accept him as a new member of the board since she was a Minister, and he - a former Death Eater. But when he found out he had to go to the interview conducted by her, he felt almost like the world crumbled down upon him. He knew he stood no chance.  
And yet, he told her the story. Was he desperate? Probably. Did he believe he could convince her? He’d never admit it – not even before himself – but yes, he did.  
He took his empty plate and put it down in the sink, still gazing at the meadow. Then, he saw something flying towards the window.  
An owl.  
It was somewhat small. Whether it was grey or brown, Draco couldn’t tell. A little bit dusty. It must’ve been a screech owl.  
The Ministry owl.  
It landed on a windowsill and started knocking on the glass with its beak. Draco let it in, a little reluctantly – he didn’t want to let himself feel false hope. It flew over his head and sat down on the table where he’d just finished eating breakfast. He cautiously took the letter and opened it. Sure enough, the seal had a logo that said “Ministry of Magic”.  
“To Draco Malfoy.  
I apologise for the late response, but I was rather busy with other assignments – and I did have to take my time with this one. I have a few more things to discuss with you, but you can be hopeful about the job. Since I have a tremendous amount of work at the moment, I suggest meeting during the lunch hour on Monday, preferably at the Leaky Cauldron since it’s the closest.  
Kind regards,  
Minister for Magic,  
Hermione Granger”  
For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. He couldn’t believe it even though he read it about a thousand times, just to be sure. But there was hope – she wrote that herself. There was hope.

Hermione Granger was sitting in one of her favourite London cafés. She liked it here because it was far away from prying eyes, hidden in one of the alleys. It’s where she knew she could go whenever she wanted to be alone. No one knew this place, mostly because it was in a muggle part of London. She was pretty sure the lady who owned the café was, in fact, a Squib – but they never talked about it, and it didn’t seem like the lady had any contact with the wizarding world. It was just a hunch.  
The café’s owner name was Joanna – and she was an enthusiast when it came to coffee, tea and cakes. The café itself was small – it only had a few tables, but it was cosy. It was also rather dark, but candles and unique lamps gave just enough light.  
Hermione was sipping a cup of hot autumn tea. Joanna recommended it to her for so long until she finally gave in. Since then, she ordered it each time it was available – from the end of September up until December. It was a simple black tea with pumpkin spice, cinnamon, ginger and orange. It was absolutely heavenly each time.  
She was sitting by the only window, a small one – but tall. She could see some passerby hurrying down the street with umbrellas in their hands. It was a chilly Saturday, but it didn’t stop people from going out of their houses. Joanna brought her favourite pumpkin cheesecake with caramel on top. Hermione thanked her but couldn’t bring herself to smile.  
“What’s up, hun?” asked Joanna, immediately noticing her bad mood.  
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she smiled sadly. “Stuff at work. Just worrying, that’s all.”  
“I think that means you deserve a free carrot-cake muffin,” she smiled and fetched one from the counter.  
“Oh, no, please don’t. It’s not necessary,” Hermione waved her hand dismissively, abashed.  
“Come on, hun, what do you expect me to do? You’re my regular. You always leave me tips way more generous than I deserve. And I’m supposed to just leave you in a bad mood?” Joanna asked, putting her hands on the hips, looking down on her.  
“Well… Thank you,” Hermione said, smiling sheepishly. “I mean it.”  
“Then eat up. And whatever it is at work? You can deal with it. You look like a capable gal.”  
If you’re Minister for Magic, you have to be, she thought to herself, glad that she managed to keep the thought to herself.  
She packed her muffin for later and took a bite of her favourite cake. It didn’t make her feel better about her life – but it definitely made her feel better about these five minutes when she was going to eat it.  
She had absolutely no idea what to do with Draco Malfoy. That bit about “having a tremendous amount of work” was absolute rubbish. Of course, she did have quite a lot to do, but she had more than enough time to deal with him. She had spent six days thinking and thinking about the proper way to approach this issue. In fact, she was so lost in her non-stopping train of thought that she had to ask Astoria about what day it was. When she found out it was Saturday, she panicked. It was too long. Literally – the Ministry was supposed to respond in five business days unless it was a proposal, petition or something else of that kind. But when it came down to issuing employment information, Ministry had five days. She broke a rule and didn’t even realise that. She panicked and wrote that rubbish about being busy – well, she was – thinking about what to do with him – but she couldn’t write that. It was easier for her to lie on paper than to his face, so she hoped he wouldn’t bring up this topic.  
She had absolutely no idea what she wanted to discuss with him. He told her everything – or at least the most crucial parts. She really wanted to give him a chance – but it was just so risky and could endanger someone. If only she had someone to talk about it. But she knew how Ron would react.  
“That poor, slimy excuse of a person wants to work here? You’re bloody crazy for even thinking about that!”  
Was she? Crazy? She didn’t know. Hermione thought about Harry, too – he was more open-minded than Ron – but she just didn’t consider it a good idea, either. Harry and Draco were life-long enemies. And she knew that Harry would support her in whatever decision she would make, that he would trust her. But he wasn’t exactly the right person to discuss this decision with. She still remembered how obsessed Harry was with Malfoy in their sixth year. And even though he was right, after all – that just made Harry not the best person to ask for help in this case.  
Ginny…?  
“If even for one second you think that you owe him anything, I promise you, Hermione--”  
Of course she didn’t – and Ginny knew that she knew that. But she was… well, hot-tempered, to put it mildly. Ginny was not one to have a calm and reasonable discussion about Malfoy with. Besides, she was at the Quidditch Cup somewhere in Slovakia right about now. She was coming home next week, and Hermione needed to make this decision now.  
She knew who was the best person to discuss it with.  
Kingsley Shacklebolt.  
But, of course, he was assassinated. By one of the Death Eaters. One of those that she risked letting straight into the Ministry. On the one hand, she thought it was ridiculous to think Malfoy was still a Death Eater. He wasn’t very keen on it back then, and she saw it through all this hatred. Behind the veil of despise. But maybe he was still stupid enough to think it would somehow benefit him?  
That was ridiculous. Voldemort was dead for so long now - why would anyone benefit from this? And yet, Shacklebolt was very much dead.  
Oh, the chaos in her head – she hated it. Whenever it was happening, she despised it. She preferred to see everything clearly, logically or like a puzzle – just the pieces you had to put together so that you could see the picture clearly. But there were too many pieces this time. And she had to figure it out all by herself.  
The bell by the door rang, announcing another customer. A tall, weirdly dressed in a dark-green robe figure came in. Hermione looked at the peculiar person, completely flabbergasted.  
“P-professor McGonagall!” she shrieked in surprise.  
The tall witch turned to her. There was no mistaking her – the hair still tied up in a tight bun, the same snow-cold green eyes, sharp features. She smiled warmly at her.  
“Madame Minister. A pleasure to see you,” she greeted her.  
“Oh, please, professor, no need to be so formal,” said Hermione, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward.  
“You’ve just called me professor, Miss Granger,” said McGonagall, looking at her slightly amused.  
“It’s just so good to see you.”  
“You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” noticed professor.  
Hermione didn’t even bring up the strength to deny it. She just nodded.  
“I’ll have a cup of tea, please,” McGonagall addressed Joanna.  
“Black, green, white, red, earl grey, oolong--”  
“Just black, no sugar, please.”  
“Yes, of course, right away,” said Joanna, clearly disappointed with the choice.  
“So, something at the Ministry, I presume?” the professor turned back to Hermione, sitting next to her.  
Granger looked at her, and for the first time in her life, she believed in destiny. How was it possible that the smartest person alive, whom she trusted and respected all her life, came through that door? Into the small, muggle café? Whether it was destiny or her incredible, incredible luck, she wasn’t going to waste it.  
“Well, professor, maybe you can help me,” said Hermione with a sudden determination in her eyes.  
McGonagall gave her a curious look.  
“You remember Draco Malfoy, professor? Well, of course you do,” she chuckled nervously.  
“Yes, I do,” she responded, clearly confused.  
“Well… Malfoy came in, looking for a job. When I saw the resume, I just thought I should throw it away – but it was actually good. And, well, I fought for equality for muggle-borns and house-elves for so long, it wouldn’t be really fair of me to just reject his application based on who he was, would it? So I asked him to come in for an interview, even though it wasn’t my job to interview him, it is actually--”  
“Get to the point, please,” said McGonagall with her stern look.  
Hermione almost felt like back in school.  
“Yes, of course. Malfoy told me. His story.”  
“And?”  
“I believe him. I believe that he wants to start over and that he wants to stay here, with family and that he wants to be better.”  
“Then, why are you here moping about it?”  
Hermione chuckled but sighed heavily after a moment.  
“Because it’s a huge responsibility to hire a former Death Eater. It’s a bit like hiring a convict in the muggle world. I have nothing but his word for it and--”  
“Just his word?” the professor gave her a surprised look. “It’s been almost nine years, Granger. I should think that nine years in which he behaved nothing if not perfectly acceptable is all the evidence you need. You wouldn’t interview him if he did something bad during those nine years, would you?”  
“But, professor, Kingsley--”  
“Kingsley Shacklebolt was murdered by Antonin Dolohov, a Death Eater who had followed Voldemort since the beginning and who had always been faithful to him. You should know better than to see the resemblance between the two,” she frowned.  
“But how can I be sure? I have to protect my people. The war is over, but ever since the previous Minister was killed, it hasn’t been exactly a candy-flavoured Every Flavour Bean.”  
There was a long silence in which McGonagall started sipping her tea.  
“It’s only natural that you want to be cautious,” she started. “If you think Malfoy’s suitable for the job if he’s got experience and skill, you should hire him. You’ve said so yourself – you believe him.”  
“I should take some precautions, though, shouldn’t I?” Hermione bit her lip as if with uncertainty.  
“You can only answer that yourself. If you feel that is what you should do, do it.”  
“I want to know your take on this, professor,” Hermione said, glancing at her nervously.  
“I can’t tell you what to do, but I certainly can tell you that some reasonable precautions are a good idea. He will have time to prove himself to you. And I can also tell you that Draco Malfoy was an intelligent boy. If not for his upbringing, he might have ended up a completely different person. Maybe this is his chance, right now, to change.”


	4. The Lunch

Hermione Granger was standing in front of the mirror, cursing herself for caring about her looks. She knew her standard elegant outfit would be perfectly suitable, but somehow it was not good enough for her. She wanted to look stern, confident, powerful but had no idea how to achieve that. The only person who knew anything about fashion was somewhere in Slovakia right now – probably flying on her broom and throwing balls around – and getting paid for that. And, let’s be honest, Luna was definitely not one to get fashion advice from. So Hermione was standing in front of the mirror in her formal black dress, giving herself a stern look and asking herself if she looked powerful enough.  
You’re a bloody Minister – you don’t have to look powerful. You are powerful, she said to herself, pointing threateningly to the mirror and surprisingly, found herself feeling better. She braided her hair and gave herself a determined look.  
Let’s go then, she said to her reflection but didn’t move an inch. Finally, she sighed, shook her head and headed towards the doors.  
She quickly apparated and a second later was walking briskly to the entrance of the Ministry of Magic.  
Focusing on work was impossible. It was pointless not thinking about the upcoming lunch. Hermione just took a binder where some documents only needed her signature and a stamp – she was happy that she managed to do anything.   
Hermione decided to stop overthinking things. She got up, informed Astoria she might be late from the lunch break and went out. Obviously, it wasn’t easy, but the least she could do was stop wondering whether she should say “hello” or “hi”.  
When she arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, Malfoy was already there. Her heart started pounding and her palms – sweating. Why was she so nervous? It was supposed to be stressful for him, not her. She was just doing the interview – it was Malfoy, who should be worried about leaving a good impression.  
He was sitting at the nearby table, looking around with a “maybe-I-should-just-get-out-of-here” sort of look. He was dressed way too nice for this place. The tables and chair didn’t even seem to be black compared to his robes. Hermione sat down opposite him, and he gave her a surprised look.  
“Do you really want to eat here?” he asked in a hushed voice so that no one could overhear.   
“Hello to you too. What, this place doesn’t meet Malfoys’ standards?”   
He rolled his eyes.   
“Unless you want to eat under the surveillance of every possible witch and wizard staring at us, then yes. It doesn’t meet Malfoys’ standards.”  
She looked around – it was hard to admit, but he was right. All of the eyes in the room were turned on them. Even the bartender froze while wiping a glass, staring at them with a shock on his face.  
“Fine,” she snarled. “Let’s go.”  
They stood up and left, all of the eyes on them – not one person would move or even breathe. Once they closed the door, they heard a usual bustling inside the bar. They looked at each other, both clearly uncomfortable.  
“Okay. So maybe you were sort of right. Where to, then?” asked Hermione.  
“I have an idea,” he said and gestured so that she would follow him.   
She frowned but went after him.  
“Do you plan on telling me where we’re going?” she asked suspiciously.  
“It’s a good restaurant. They serve those… lobster things,” Malfoy gestured for the lack of the word.  
She stopped, rooted to the spot. He looked at her with resignation.  
“What?” he asked.  
“You’re telling me Draco Malfoy is taking me to a fancy, muggle restaurant? Is this your plot to get a job?”  
“Where am I supposed to take you, McDonald’s?” he asked, impatiently gesturing to follow him.   
“How do you even know--”  
“Would you quit acting so dense, Granger? I had to go somewhere after the war, didn’t I? It’s not like I was warmly greeted in our world,” he frowned, watching her intently to make sure she wouldn’t stop in her tracks again.  
“But--”  
“Here it is,” he said, pointing at the opposite side of the road. It was rather small, comparing to other fancy restaurants on the street. They crossed the street, and Draco opened the black door made of glass and gestured so that she would come in first.  
“Are you acting like a gentleman because of the restaurant or a job?” she asked, frowning.  
“Both,” he grinned. Hermione couldn’t remember whether she’d ever seen him with a genuine smile that wasn’t a confident smirk or a result of evil satisfaction of bullying.  
“Hello,” a tall brunette in a waitress uniform with surprisingly rosy cheeks greeted them at the entrance. She was smiling politely. “A table for two?”  
“Yes, please,” replied Malfoy.  
“Would you prefer a table in the back, more secluded, or by the window?” she asked.   
He turned to Hermione.  
“W-What? I don’t know!” she whispered urgently, suddenly terrified that she was suddenly thrown into decision-making.   
“By the window will be fine,” Malfoy smiled politely.  
“Of course, sir, ma’am. If you’ll please follow me”.  
The waitress took two menus and showed them to a table with a view of the rainy street. There weren’t many people in the restaurant – but not all of the clients were dressed super fancy, so Hermione let out a sigh of relief. Just another restaurant for the upper-middle-class that decided to have one fancy lunch a month or a fortnight. Only one couple looked like rich snobs.   
A moment later, another waiter came to their table.  
“Would you want me to light the candles?” he suddenly asked, and Hermione looked at him with pure dread in her eyes.  
“No, thank you, it’s a business meeting,” she said as calmly as she could, even though she saw, in the corner of her eye, Malfoy tried to stifle a laugh.  
“Of course, ma’am. I wish you good luck. We’ll be back for your order soon, but would you like something to drink?”  
“Just two glasses of red wine, please,” said Draco and Hermione had to really, really try not to kick him in the shin.  
When the waiter left with a polite nod, she turned to him furiously.  
“Red wine? What is this?” she hissed.  
“It’s a fancy restaurant,” he said, raising his arms defensively. “They’d look weird at you if you didn’t take something with at least 10% of alcohol in it. We should fit in, no?”  
“Why are we even here?”  
“Because the Leaky Cauldron was full of people who eagerly saw scandal arising right at their noses. When you see the headlines tomorrow morning, I’d just like to politely remind you that it was you who suggested meeting in this place.”  
“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m sure they—”  
“Granger, the only thing that would be more scandalous than us having lunch together would be if we had dinner together. That’s basically engagement if you let Rita Skeeter find out.”  
She grimaced but knew he was right. That may not have been very smart of her. But she just wanted the whole thing to be over, so she suggested the most easily accessible place.  
“Or if you had dinner with Harry,” she suggested brightly.  
“That is true,” he chuckled.  
When the waiter came back with their wine and took their order, he turned to her with a straight face.  
“Look, I don’t know how else to convince you. I know I’ve made mistakes, and not ones that people tend to forgive. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I’ve done bad, horrible things, and I know that. I did it to protect my family, and this is the part – the only part of it that I actually don’t regret. I know that instead of becoming a Death Eater, I should’ve gone straight to Dumbledore for protection, even if it meant less than fifty per cent chance at surviving. But I didn’t, and there were many factors: my ego, the need to impress my father, the need to be the best at something, the need to prove myself, the need to protect my family, the need to feel better about myself, to be envied, to—”  
“Stop,” she said, raising her hand. “Just… Stop. You don’t have to tell me all that.”  
“I know,” he replied, looking at her so intently, she had to look the other way.  
There was a silence for a second, where Hermione stared out of the window. The rain didn’t stop. People were speeding down and up the street with umbrellas or with hoods on.   
“Look,” he said calmly after a while. “My point is, I’ve done bad things, and I can’t take them back. One thing that keeps me sane is believing I’ve done them for at least one good reason, as opposed to other countless bad ones. And you don’t have to agree with me – but you have to understand. I want this nightmare to be over. I want to be here, where I belong. In my home. With all the hateful and spiteful looks, with suspicion and lack of any trust whatsoever, but here, home.”  
She looked at him uncertainly. He really did look genuine. His pale face didn’t have its usual signs of false and insincerity. She could see the remorse somewhere in his cold, grey eyes, which were always clouded with hatred whenever he looked at her back at school. His thin lips also didn’t leave a sign of a smirk – just genuine sadness. And tiredness, seen visibly because of the bags under his eyes. She stared at him for a long time when the waiter came with their food, staring at them suspiciously. At the moment, they may not have looked like on a business meeting.  
He left her to her thoughts, seeing as she was furrowing her brows thoughtfully, nibbling her food at the same time. She kept putting her hair behind the ear because even though she had a braid, they kept breaking free.  
“I think… I think I know what to do,” said Hermione quietly when he finished his food. She barely even touched her salmon. If she knew being a Minister would include such responsibilities, she would think twice about agreeing to this job.   
He looked at her with patient anticipation.  
“I’m going to hire you, Malfoy. On a condition. You’re going to come to my office once a week with a report and a short evaluation. A report will be written by your boss and other employees. I trust you know better than to tamper with these because I will find out. Then, a short talk with me, based on what I’ll read in the report. Also, we are going to keep a close eye on you. We cannot just let former Death Eaters stroll around the Ministry. I hope you know that your job will affect magical children. I hope you’re up to the task and that you understand that I must take precautions.”  
“Of course, Madame Minister,” he grinned. She sighed but eventually couldn’t help but to smile back.


End file.
